Myra walked off, yelling over her shoulder that Shirley had ‘just an hour,’ and to be a good girl!
Shirley was feeling so good she’d almost forgotten how angry with Micky she’d been the previous night. He opened the door for her, tucked in her coat, and as he got in he took hold of her hand.
‘First, I want you to tell me you’re not angry about the other night. I’ve not been able to sleep. On my life, it was just one of those things, a heavy time all round.’
Shirley listened to him giving her the flannel, not really paying any attention. He was good with the chat, but that’s all it was, and she’d realized that not only didn’t she trust him, she didn’t really like him much, either. For the moment, though, she was happy to go along for the ride.
The flannel finally stopped, and then he started up the car, gave her a quick kiss on the cheek and drove off.
‘Nice little place, grab you a quick bite to eat, want to hear all about it...’
Shirley kept her eyes on his face as she asked him if he knew Harry Rawlins. She noticed a slight twitch at the side of his mouth, then he looked her directly in the eyes.
‘Harry who?’
Shirley shrugged. ‘It doesn’t matter.’
Micky drove on, keeping up with the chatter, trying not to show she’d rattled him. He felt for her thigh, then hitched up her skirt. Her flesh was soft and warm. He looked at the clock on the dashboard. He fancied taking her back and giving her a good seeing-to, but he doubted they had the time.
They pulled up outside a small Italian restaurant. On the pavement, he cupped her face in his hands and kissed her, a long, deep kiss. He felt her respond, her arms tightening round him — then he released her.
Micky knew the proprietor and a table was quickly laid for them in a cozy alcove, even though it was way past lunchtime and the place was almost deserted. Micky tossed the menus aside and ordered two fettuccinis and a bottle of chilled Pinot Grigio. Then he tilted Shirley’s chin and kissed her gently.
‘Right, my little beauty, tell me everything. I want to know all about it.’
As Shirley started talking, the waiter came and opened the wine, while Micky was given a bottle of San Pellegrino without even asking. Shirley would have rather been telling someone else about her day — someone who she thought really cared about her — but right now there wasn’t anyone else, and Micky was so attentive, and seemed so interested, that she soon forgot about it.
‘You ended with a blackout?’ he said incredulously. ‘Like in the war?’
‘No, silly,’ she laughed. ‘It’s when the lights go out at the end of the show for the finale, when we walk down the ramp. We’ve got all the jewels on, and then the lights go out except for spotlights on your head and neck to show off the jewels.’
Micky smiled. ‘Well, just shows you — you learn something new every day, don’t you?’
Dolly lay in the bath and gently soaped her whole body. Funny, really, every morning she took a bath, and yet this one felt different. Special. She was suddenly aware of her body, not just something to wash, dry and put clothes on top of, but something that somebody else might want to touch.
Dolly studied her red toenails. She had nice feet, elegant. But then she’d always taken care of her feet, since shoes were one of her passions. Some women went for hats; Dolly went for shoes. Maybe it stemmed from her childhood, her feet being shoved into the cheapest ones available. Dolly remembered her mother’s feet, with her bunions and corns, the heel worn into a bulge at the back. She looked at her own smooth, hairless legs and smiled. She began to think of Vic Morgan, saying his name to herself.
She sat up. This was getting stupid. But she couldn’t get him out of her mind. She knew he felt the same way. But then, what way was that exactly? She shook her head. Why was she putting herself through this torture? For what?
Then a heavy cloud came sweeping over her... Harry. Morgan was dismissed from her mind — just a bungling, heavyweight man, who for one moment had made her laugh. But it had proved something: she was still capable of enjoying herself, and still capable of attracting someone else. Her mood shifted and Dolly got out of the bath. She caught her reflection in the mirror and decided she should have her hair cut.
Bella made herself a sandwich and ate it watching the telly. Where the hell was Dolly? She kicked herself for not having taken her phone number. She had so much to tell her.
She looked round Shirley’s lounge. What was it she hated about it so much? There was nothing really ugly; nothing out of place. The sofa, the chairs, the carpet — they all matched.
That was it. Nothing stood out. There was nothing surprising. It was as if it had all been ordered from the same magazine. Bella began to think of Rio, the villa, José. It all seemed so far away, as if it had never happened. She wondered if this was her life now, watching stupid TV programs in an empty house.
The lounge lights were still on as Shirley parked the car. She knew she’d be in for a grilling from Bella — and she probably had it coming. She’d been gone all day and hadn’t even bothered to call in. Truth was, she hadn’t really expected the rehearsal to go on for so long, but as Jukko pointed out, they rolled the following night — Sunday. They had to know exactly what they were doing.
Vic Morgan was standing shaving, with a towel wrapped round him, when the doorbell rang, almost making him nick himself. He wandered through to the hall and peered through the spyhole. Curious, he opened the door and the delivery boy shoved a parcel into his arms and asked him to sign for it. As he scribbled his name, Morgan noticed the boy had terrible BO.
He carried the parcel to the table and ripped off the outer layer of packaging. Inside was a box with Italian writing. What on earth...? But as he opened the box it all fell into place. It was a jacket. Not exactly the same as his old one, but very similar. He carefully took it out of the box and put it on. He looked a bit odd in the mirror, wearing a towel round his waist and a jacket on top, but the jacket looked so elegant, the material hung so perfectly, the color was so rich and deep, that even wearing a towel, he looked decidedly elegant and stylish. He felt the soft material between his fingers. Must have cost a fortune, he thought. He turned this way and that in the mirror, grinning inanely. No one had ever, in his whole life, bought him a gift like this. He was touched. More than touched: he was so taken aback that he sat on his bed for a while wondering what his next move should be.
Shirley turned off the telly and Bella woke up with a start.
‘Do you want a cup of tea? I’m just putting the kettle on.’
Bella stretched, then followed Shirley into the kitchen. ‘You have a good time last night, then?’
Shirley filled the kettle. ‘It was OK.’ She hesitated. ‘It’s just there was...’
Bella came closer. ‘What?’
Shirley put the kettle down. ‘I saw someone. I mean, I think I saw someone.’
‘What are you talking about?’ Bella demanded, beginning to lose patience.
Shirley turned and faced her. ‘Harry. I think I saw Harry.’
Bella couldn’t believe it. ‘Why didn’t you tell me? Tell Dolly?’
‘It might not have been him, Bella.’
‘But you think it was.’
Shirley shrugged.